Jokes aside, talent traits were genuinely addictive.
Ignoring the ones that were too cursed to look at, Noah had activated quite a few over the years.
Considering his body was still developing, his present strength more than justified the time he’d put in.
His thoughts ended there when his father’s voice came from behind him.
“Let’s go.
You’ll have plenty of time to stare later.”
Marcus walked over and gave Noah a firm pat on the back.
Noah pulled his gaze away from the gate and followed him inside.
The grounds were larger than they appeared from outside.
The front courtyard was broad, most of the buildings constructed from timber, leaving a faint woody fragrance in the air.
Marcus led him through the compound with obvious familiarity until they reached the training hall.
Shouts, pounding footsteps against wooden flooring, and the sharp clack of wooden swords striking one another blended into a constant din.
The moment Noah entered, the smell of sweat mixed with fresh timber hit him.
The roof was high.
Several beams of sunlight slanted through elevated windows, and weapon racks lined the walls, holding what Noah estimated to be dozens of practice swords.
Several dozen students were sparring in groups across the wooden floor.
Most were teenagers, though a few were clearly adults.
Seated in the place of honor at the front of the hall was a fierce man with short blue hair.
A long vertical scar ran beneath his left eye, while the corner of his right eye bore another mark of battle.
Even sitting cross-legged, he radiated the oppressive dignity of a true powerhouse.
Sword God Gal Farion.
The people gathered nearest to him were almost all elite disciples of the Sword God Style.
Most had earned the title of Sword Saint or higher.
They sat there partly to rest after training and partly to receive direct instruction from the Sword Emperor beside Gal, while Gal himself occasionally tossed in a comment or two.
Among all those adults, Noah immediately spotted two noticeably smaller figures.
Nina and Jino.
They looked almost comically tiny surrounded by grown swordsmen.
Noah had heard of both prodigies over the years, but since he’d always trained in one of the outer dojos, this was the first time he’d actually seen them.
Marcus led Noah before Gal, bent both knees, lowered his head, and performed the salute of a disciple.
Until now, Gal’s only direct disciple had been Ghislaine.
Marcus wasn’t one himself, but practically every Sword God Style swordsman could be considered one of Gal’s students in the broader sense.
“Master, this is the disciple being promoted from one of the outer dojos this time.
Noah.”
Marcus didn’t mention their father-son relationship.
His tone was completely professional.
As one of only two Sword Emperors in the Holy Land of Swords, Timothy Britts normally carried the responsibility of instructing the younger generation inside the main dojo.
Unless there was a particular reason, he rarely left it.
Marcus, though also a Sword Emperor, had different duties.
He oversaw many of the smaller outer dojos and received the steady stream of swordsmen who came to visit or join the Sword God Style.
Over the years, plenty of idiots had shown up hoping to challenge the Sword God and get lucky.
Making those people understand that they didn’t even qualify to stand before Gal was part of Marcus’s job.
So was screening talented swordsmen and sending promising young blood into the core dojo.
Noah sat down as well and lowered his head in greeting, but he remained cross-legged rather than kneeling.
Part of it was simple.
As a modern transmigrator with a cheat system, he wasn’t accustomed to kneeling before people.
Family elders were one thing.
A room full of strangers?
No thanks.
More importantly, rigid obedience and groveling didn’t earn respect from genuine powerhouses.
Gal Farion was exactly that kind of man.
If anything, he preferred swordsmen with sharp edges and enough nerve to challenge him.
Noah remembered that when Eris eventually came to the Holy Land of Swords, she’d called Gal “trash” to his face.
He hadn’t gotten angry at all.
He’d laughed and replied, “Compared to the Dragon God, I really am trash.”
So Noah simply acted according to his nature.
“Mm.
How strong is he?” Gal asked casually.
He knew Marcus had a son named Noah, though he’d never met the boy and had no idea how talented he was.
Gal’s own eldest daughter, Nina, was only ten and had already reached Advanced rank.
Her future looked promising, with clear potential to become a Sword Emperor someday.
Jino, the son of Timothy and Gal’s younger sister, was less remarkable but still talented.
He was four years younger than Nina and had already reached Intermediate rank.
Gal’s only complaint was that he saw no real desire in Jino yet.
The boy seemed boring.
Gal didn’t care about formalities.
That didn’t mean everyone else felt the same.
Several disciples seated nearby frowned at Noah’s casual posture.
A few of the more hot-blooded ones nearly stood up to reprimand him, only restraining themselves because of the occasion.
“Eight years old.
Intermediate swordsman,” Marcus answered.
Noticing the others’ reactions, he glanced back and finally realized what Noah had done.
Surprise flashed across his face.
What had gotten into this brat today?
But with his master—and employer—sitting in front of him, Marcus could only shoot Noah a warning look and turn back around.
He didn’t know Noah was doing it deliberately.
Among the gathered disciples, a rough-featured middle-aged man in training clothes remained perfectly calm throughout.
Timothy.
His gaze passed over Marcus and settled on the somewhat unfamiliar Noah.
The last time Timothy had visited the outer dojo had been two years ago.
“Not bad.” Gal finally showed a little more interest as he looked at Noah, who was considerably taller than most boys his age.
“Kid.
Why do you swing a sword?”
“To get stronger.”
Noah raised his head and looked directly into Gal Farion’s eyes, neither humble nor arrogant.
“Strong enough to do whatever I want.”
“Oh?
Then you want the Sword God’s seat?
Beat me and you can call yourself Sword God.
Once you do, you’ll have more money than you could spend in a hundred lifetimes.
Kingdom princesses and noblewomen will line up, shake their asses, and beg you to favor them.
Become Sword God, and you can do whatever the hell you want.”
Gal’s hawk-like eyes examined Noah while the wild, arrogant words rolled naturally from his mouth.
And he wasn’t exaggerating.
With Gal’s strength, even kings had to receive him as an honored guest.
Plenty would gladly send their daughters or sisters into his bed if it bought his favor.
The Sword God Style advocated the pursuit of desire.
Gal firmly believed that anyone who wanted to become Sword God needed bottomless ambition and greed.
Desire was what sharpened a sword.
He wanted to hear Noah’s answer.
He wanted to see what sort of hunger and ambition lived inside this boy.
“Not enough.
Not even close.”
Noah’s next words went far beyond Gal’s expectations.
And everyone else’s.
“Arrogant brat!”
“How dare you speak to the Sword God like that!”
“Get on your knees!
Who taught you manners?!”
The new disciple’s apparent contempt for the title of strongest swordsman alive was practically a slap across all their faces.
The Sword Saints who’d already been holding themselves back finally exploded.
“Sit down.”
One sentence from Gal silenced them instantly.
Many disciples assumed the ignorant, arrogant child was about to be personally cut down by the Sword God and would never leave this hall alive.
Marcus felt numb.
That answer had admittedly crossed a line.
His son seemed possessed today.
He wasn’t worried Noah would actually be killed—not with Marcus sitting here—but the brat was definitely going to suffer for this.
Gal, however, only grinned with growing interest.
“Is that so?
Then how strong is strong enough?”
“Strong enough that I don’t have to fear anyone.” Noah answered with complete seriousness.
“At minimum, strong enough to fight Dragon God Orsted to a draw.”
Over the years, Noah had thought the matter through.
From Uncle Dragon God’s perspective, any major deviation from previous loops was obviously the Man-God’s doing.
Noah was an accidental transmigrator.
The moment he began interfering with major events, there was basically a one-hundred-percent chance Orsted would classify him as an apostle of the Man-God.
Man-God Apostle = guaranteed spot on the Dragon God’s hit list.
Noah couldn’t hide from the world forever, and he definitely didn’t want his first meeting with Orsted to end with a casual one-shot and a game-over screen.
So there was only one answer.
Get stronger.
Stronger.
Stronger.
At the very least, he wanted to survive the first exchange.
Everyone present had heard the title Dragon God, one of the Seven Great Powers.
But almost none of them recognized the name Orsted.
Only Gal and Noah knew exactly who that name represented.
“Hahahahaha!
So that’s it!
That’s it!”
Gal threw his head back and laughed, slapping his thigh repeatedly.
The others stared at the Sword God’s bizarre reaction in shock.
Only Gal understood.
To use Dragon God Orsted as your measuring stick meant setting the strongest creature imaginable as your goal.
He had no idea how Noah knew Orsted’s name.
He didn’t care.
“You’ve got ambition, kid.
But the most useless thing in the world is a big mouth.”
Gal’s laughter slowly faded.
“So show me your sword.
Which one of you wants to be his opponent?”
The Sword God swept his gaze across the room.